


The Apocalypse

by Stargazer_In_Red



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargazer_In_Red/pseuds/Stargazer_In_Red
Summary: With recent events in mind, I need to add that this is NOT a work based on Good Omens. This is a fanfic about my friends.





	The Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fools_seldom_write](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_seldom_write/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Strangely Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15021491) by [fools_seldom_write](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_seldom_write/pseuds/fools_seldom_write). 



(...Tiny echo slowly died out in thick walls. A man dressed like a high rank officer was sitting the  
table, staring unblinkingly in the eye of the camera. He looked powerful and intimidating, even  
more now, when he was silent.  
“Ok, that one was good”, - his counterpart said. - “I think we're done here.”  
The man breathed out, closed his eyes for one moment. “That'd better work”, - he said.  
“Yes”, - the operator nodded. - “Or we're both dead.”  
“Still wanna be immortal, eh?”  
“Why not?” - a wink - “Don't you?”  
“I do”, - the “officer” got up, slowly moved around the table, his face emotionless. - “Just not with  
you.”....)

Francis was sitting in a large studio together with about 10 people who happened to be just as  
unlucky. Or lucky, depending on how you looked at it. His eyes finally got adjusted to the bright  
light, so he stopped wincing all the time, and the cameras focused on his face more often. But it  
wasn't his time to speak yet.  
“And here”, - the host of the show, a young black woman with yellow eye lenses, made a gesture  
towards a skinny man with long black hair - “we have Mr Jonas Warren, a leader of an online  
pedophile community in the past, a law abiding citizen in the present. Say “hello” to our  
subscribers, Mr Warren!”  
“Hey, guys”, - said he nonchalantly. Francis looked at him. For a second he thought he could see the  
script coming up in Warren's glasses in tiny white letters, but, of course, it was impossible. Warren  
coughed and continued, his voice growing more mechanic: “Several years before the revolution I  
was one of the key figures behind the so-called “map community”. James the Map was the  
pseudonym I was hiding behind. But I never took pride in who I was, and I was seeking to destroy  
that horrible community from the inside...”  
Why didn't they kill him? Francis wondered. They killed Wert, Mells, almost everyone else who  
wasn't a minor back then. They could have easily made their poster figure out of anyone else.  
Nobody would even remember who he was and what he did.  
“... I taught child rights' protectors how to hunt down pedophiles in their own servers, and the  
pedophile community disowned me...”  
Of course we disowned you. You let a genocide apologist in a server where minor maps were  
sharing their personal information. If not Lecter, it could have gone far worse. Although what can  
be “worse” now, when everything is lost...  
“... I contacted the servants of the state right away. They put a bracelet that detect where I am on my  
arm”, - he lifted his left hand and demonstrated the small black thing - “I wouldn't be able to take it  
off even if I wanted to, and prescribed me meds that lower libido. “Never-ever”, they come in  
injections or pills, almost no side effects, you can order them online on the official site  
www.neverever.stat.med.”  
Francis shot a side glance at the host, and saw how her eyes widen a bit. Apparently, that wasn't in  
the script. Someone giggled.  
“Thank you for sharing this touching story of recovery with us, Mr Warren,” - the woman smiled.  
“Now let's listen to someone who was victimized and hurt by that community. Mr Francis  
Schwarz.”  
Francis felt the eyes turning to him. Red neon letters appeared on the screen on his glasses, invisible  
to anyone but him: “START SPEAKING”. So he started repeating after the text: “I was only 15  
when I found the community Mr Warren was talking about...”  
***  
It was past 3 am when he got home. The show left him worn out mentally and going up to the 22nd  
floor on foot left him worn out physically. He sleepily stumbled into the flat and closed the door  
behind. Only then he felt something he'd otherwise feel right after opening it. A tiny smell of leather  
and something acidic. Someone else was in the flat. Francis remembered about the gun he kept in  
his bedroom, which he, of course, didn't take to that dumb show, about two knives in the kitchen,  
and pepper spray in the bag that was supposed to be here, close to the door. He make a quick step,  
reached for it in the dark, feeling like he's losing precious seconds.  
“Hello, Death”, - a familiar voice called. Francis froze. Even if he hadn't recognized the voice, only  
one person in the world called him Death.  
“Lecter?”  
“Yes. Close the curtains and turn on the light. No point in sitting here in the dark.”  
Slightly disoriented, Francis did as he was told. Lecter followed him around the flat, staying several  
steps behind, and there was something in it that made Francis' mind go back to the pre-war times  
and his heart beat. Finally he secured the flat from whoever might have been outside and switched  
on the light. Lecter was standing in the middle of room, blinking at the sudden flash. Like in good  
old days, he was dressed in leather from head to toe. Natural leather was illegal, but from what  
Francis knew, it was the smallest of his problems. Then Francis noticed some changes in his friend's  
face and figure.  
“You quit T?” - he asked, and Lecter nodded. - “But why?”  
“I don't want to eat shit they want us to eat”, - he responded in his usual blunt manner. “Who knows  
what else they put there. But anyway, this doesn't matter.”  
“Ok,” - Francis felt a bit awkward. “Let's go drink some-” - he wanted to say “tea”, but  
reconsidered - “coffee.”  
They went to the kitchen, and Francis pulled out two cups and switched on the electric teapot. “You  
weren't as active online as you used to be”, - he noted.  
“Where?” - Lecter scoffed. “On your pocket tumblr?”  
“That's not a pocket tumblr, that's a free speech site!” - Francis protested.  
“A speech is free only when the speaker is free. Otherwise it's just a circus.”  
“Speaking of circuses, saw me today on Channel 2? I wrote about it on my blog”, - Francis said,  
reaching out for the teapot which was already hot enough.  
“Yes. Absolute degeneracy. I even liked it a little bit”, - he smiled somewhat bitterly.  
Francis poured the boiling water into the cups and dropped the coffee in. They sat in silence for a  
little bit, and just watched each other. They haven't met in person for almost a year, and a lot  
changed since then.  
“I saw your new political views update”, - Lecter finally said, as if responding to Francis' thoughts.  
“Why do you go with the centrists now?”  
“Do you like what the far left did to us?” - Francis replied with another question.  
“This is not the far left, this is just antis and neoliberals”, - Lecter shook his head to move aside the  
hair that covered his right eye. His hair looked as if he didn't wash it for at least a month, and  
probably so it was. - “In comparison to me they aren't even left.”  
“Maybe”, - Francis had to agree with the last statement - “but you know what I mean. You saw what  
this ideology does to people. I can't support something like this.”  
“Remember the post I made once?” - Lecter suddenly asked. “When I was still trying to persuade  
James. About the tendencies of the map community I dislike.”  
“Something about polarization?” - Francis wasn't sure. He took pride in his good memory, but even  
he couldn't remember a single post made years ago word by word.  
“Yes”, - Lecter picked up the cup, it was already cool enough to drink. - “We all have that  
temptation, to mirror our enemies, to be their opposite, but it's often counterproductive. Like it is  
now. You won't beat antis by being the opposite of an anti.”  
“It's not about being the opposite only, it's about not supporting what they promote”, - Francis felt  
like Lecter does have a point, and this feeling was rather uncomfortable.  
“On a site with nazis and other losers. Cheers!” - Lecter ironically saluted him with a cup. His hand  
twitched, and he spilled a couple of drops on the table.  
“Let's not argue now, please”, - Francis asked. He wasn't fond of offline discourse in general, and  
especially not now, when he just met someone that important to him after such a long break.  
“I didn't come to argue either, I guess I just get carried away easily”, - Lecter spoke quieter and  
slower, and carefully put the cup on the table. “I came to ask you a question. If I were to blow it all  
up, would you stand by my side?”  
“Sure”, - Francis nodded. - “I think, yes, of course.”  
“Thank you, Death”, - Lecter finished the coffee and got up. - “You are a good person”, - he added  
with unexpected sadness in his voice. - “And you belong to a better future than the one I can make.”  
“Um... Thank you”, - Francis wasn't sure how to reply. Before Lecter said such things sometimes  
too, and they always made Francis blush with embarrassment. He only hoped Lecter didn't notice. -  
“Are you leaving already?” - he asked, confused, when he saw Lecter heading for the door. - “I  
thought you'd stay for the night.”  
“I can't, I have work to do.”  
And so he left. Francis stayed in the kitchen and stared at the cup across the table, lost in thought,  
until it was 6 o'clock, and the TV set, compulsory for every flat, started showing the morning  
programs.  
***  
The next several months he spent as if he was half asleep. He kept returning to this conversation,  
and to many conversations that happened before it, before the war, both online and offline, and he  
couldn't get rid of the feeling of loss. There was something he did wrong at some point, and that's  
why he was where he was. There were times when they were the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  
Right now “Death”, like an inside joke shared only between him and Lecter, was the only reminder  
of those times. There were times when they had dreams, had future. Everything went out of hand  
when James (Francis couldn't get used to calling him Jonas) betrayed them. And then there was the  
war, and then they were here and now. Francis went on with his life, he argued with nazis on  
“pocket tumblr”, how Lecter called a deep web site for people with controversial opinions, with  
slowly growing disgust for the right, the left, and the center alike. Sometimes discourse gave him a  
feeling of something familiar, but nothing of it was like before, when the map community was  
standing strong and protecting each one of its members. Lecter announced a hiatus on his blog, and  
without him Francis felt even more lonely.  
One day he was scrolling down his dash as usual, when he heard the sound of the sirens from the  
TV. He rose his head and froze. Lecter was looking at him from the screen.  
“Now, that I have your attention”, - he started with a wicked half smile on his face - “I am Marlen  
Belov, and I just overthrew your pseudo socialist government.”  
How? It seemed impossible. Francis stared at the screen with a mix of disbelief and happiness. He  
noticed that Lecter was looking better, he cut his hair, and the features of his face were more  
masculine, indicating that he started T again. He was wearing some uniform that Francis did not  
recognize.  
Lecter continued talking, something about bravery of his comrades and the army that joined him,  
then the camera switched off and on, and now Francis was looking at James.  
“They thought they could control us, they could not be more wrong”, - he started, tossing the  
bracelet that was once on his arm from one hand to another. His left arm was bandaged.  
Francis didn't know for how long the broadcast continued. It seemed to have ended in mere  
minutes, and the screen died. He reached for his phone, almost compulsively. The official internet  
didn't work. He tried accessing different sites, but it gave zero results. He felt lost and confused.  
Why was he not a part of any of it? There was an uneasy feeling growing, that all of it was some  
kind of a trick. Then a tumblr notification popped up. A message from comrade-lecter.  
“Pack up and go out. I'm coming for you”  
***  
Francis heard the first gunshots when he just stepped out of the house. The echoed perfectly in the  
jungles of high buildings, and so did the shouts. Two cars drove by on a speed at least twice more  
than the permitted, a young man was sticking out of the window of the second one and yelling  
something incoherent. The street was slowly filling with people and with sounds.  
Then a car stopped in several meters from him. It was a black minivan that looked more like  
minitank, and Francis' hopes woke up. But when the door opened, he felt as if he was lied to. Yes, it  
was Lecter. He was wearing the same leather coat as during their last meeting, it only got more dirty  
and dusty. He did cut his hair, but his face looked pale and thin, and it was obvious he didn't even  
touch T. He jumped out of the car, and Francis made several steps towards him.  
“It was a recording”, - Lecter answered an unasked question. - “Made more than a year ago.”  
“And James?”  
“Made a virus that spread the video and will shut down their net for solid 6 hours”, - Lecter  
chuckled. - “They will never have the chance to restore it, not with all these riots that are starting  
now. Their state is destroyed.”  
“Where is he now?”  
“Dead.”  
They were standing mere centimeters apart now. Suddenly Lecter rose his hand and stroked  
Francis' cheek. The younger man instinctively stepped closer.  
“We are the only two left”, - Lecter almost whispered. - “This is the Apocalypse, and we are the  
Horsemen. Will you take a ride with me?”  
“Always.”


End file.
